


I’ve Learned to Lose You (Can't Afford To)

by TheBravePrincessPure



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby is an awful mom, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Clarke Griffin, Hurt/Comfort, If I Stay AU, Injured Clarke Griffin, Loss of Parent(s), Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Sorry Not Sorry, this one hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBravePrincessPure/pseuds/TheBravePrincessPure
Summary: In just a moment, Clarke's life changes forever. A car crash kills her father, and she finds herself in a coma, stuck between life and death. She now has to decide where her future lies. Does she follow her father, or does she choose to stay with her found family?Based off of the book 'If I Stay' by Gayle Forman.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 37
Kudos: 269





	1. When We All Fall Asleep (Where Do We Go?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Just a few disclaimers. This fic deals a lot with hospitals, and may not always be perfectly medically accurate. Suspend your medical knowledge a bit while reading. Also, I do not use Abby kindly in this fic, so if you're a big Abby fan, I'm sorry. Leave a comment or kudos if you like!

Bellamy had insisted that she stay at home. He was so worried about his thesis, about getting it just right, even though it was just his first rough draft. She offered to proofread it for him, but he insisted he would be too distracted to work. Clarke knew it was probably true; they would be too caught up in each other to get much done. However, they hadn’t seen each other since a few days after Christmas, and Clarke wanted to make the most of her winter break at home before heading back to TonDC University.

They attended separate universities. Clarke was enrolled at TonDC, getting her bachelor of fine arts in painting and drawing. Her father, Jake, was incredibly supportive of her decision to go into the arts, especially considering he was an engineer and loved design. She couldn’t say the same about her mother. Abby had always wanted her to go into medicine, something that Clarke had strongly considered when applying for colleges. However, painting was her true passion, and she felt like a piece of her would be missing if she became a doctor.

Bellamy, on the other hand, went to Arkadia College, mainly so that he could commute from home. He was the main provider for his family, as his mother was in-and-out of the picture. Bellamy provided for Octavia the best he could. They both took out loans for college, and financial aid helped, but whatever wasn’t covered fell into Bellamy’s lap. He had decided to go for his master’s in history, after much persuading from Clarke to pursue his dreams, college debt be damned.

Which left them where they were: Clarke at home with her dad, and Bellamy furiously typing out his paper on his laptop in his apartment. Not only did he have to write his thesis paper, but he also had to work at the paper early the next morning. The local newspaper, The Daily Ark, had given Bellamy a job based off of his impressive writing portfolio, and a strong recommendation from Jake Griffin himself. The job offered flexible hours and great pay, so it was a good fit for him. However, Clarke knew he was dreading going in, as he always did. His boss, Pike, was a jerk; unfeeling, strong-willed, demanding. He always gave Bellamy the most boring stories for articles, and expected him to spin it into an amazing narrative to capture readers. Bellamy was good at writing, sure, but he wasn’t magic. A boring story was a boring story.

Clarke heard a knock at her door, and her head lifted from the sketchbook it was buried in. Her eyes lit up as she saw her father standing in her doorway.

“Hey kiddo. Mom’s not coming home tonight, adding in an extra shift at the hospital. Thought maybe you and I could head to dinner and a movie instead?” Jake said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, clearly unperturbed by them slipping.

Clarke chuckled as she closed her sketchbook and tossed it onto her bedside table. “A daddy-daughter date? Really?” she asks sarcastically. They hadn’t done one since she was a junior in high school, right after she had gotten her driver’s license. Jake had allowed her to drive to a local drive-in movie theater, and they shared a large popcorn. She thought the movie was some action-flick her dad had wanted to see, but she couldn’t remember.

Her dad rolled his eyes. “Humor your old man, okay?”

Clarke sighed dramatically, but got up from her bed and smoothed over the wrinkles in her dark green ‘TonDC U’ sweatshirt. “Give me a minute to fix my hair and I’ll be right down, okay?”

-

Clarke and Bellamy didn’t like each other at first. That was no secret.

Bellamy had met Clarke through Octavia. When they were sophomores in high school, Bellamy was a senior. He already had enough to worry about, what with his mother disappearing just a month prior, and him having to pick up more shifts at the diner to make ends meet. But then Octavia came home asking for money to go shopping with Clarke and some of their other friends. She begged, whining that Clarke’s parents had already given her the okay and some allowance to spend.

Thus began Bellamy’s dislike for Clarke, the spoiled princess.

Clarke’s dislike of Bellamy started later, after Bellamy had graduated from their high school. Her and Octavia were then juniors.

Octavia had invited her over to work on their geology assignment. They had to build a model house that could withstand a simulated earthquake. Geology wasn’t Clarke’s strong suit; she excelled in biology, set to complete AP biology the next year. Clarke had already asked her dad for help, considering he was an engineer and could easily help them build an indestructible model; however, Jake had told her she had to figure it out for herself, to use her own knowledge. He valued integrity, and tried to teach her the same values.

Clarke and Octavia sat in the living room, struggling to agree on how to build a solid foundation for their model home. The smell of spaghetti sauce filled the air, and Clarke’s gaze flickered to the kitchen, where Bellamy was at the stove cooking dinner.

Octavia groaned, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. “Can’t your dad just tell us what to do? He does this for a living,” she grumbled.

Clarke sighed, her attention focused back on her project partner. “I told you, my dad wouldn’t give me the answer. He told me to figure it out myself.”

A snort sounded from where Bellamy was standing, and Clarke’s brow furrowed as she stared at his back. “Daddy won’t give his princess everything she wants? Now that’s a shocker,” Bellamy mumbled bitterly.

Clarke sat up a little straighter, a tightness building in her shoulders. “Excuse me?”

Bellamy tossed a glance over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smirk. “What? It’s just a shock to hear you say that someone has told you ‘no’.”

Clarke’s face heated, both in anger and embarrassment. “I don’t know why you _think_ you know me, Bellamy, but you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about,” she bit back.

“Clarke, just ignore him. He’s being a dick,” Octavia mumbled, clearly trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, no. I want to hear how her life is _so hard_ ,” Bellamy said, his voice dripping in sarcasm as he turned and wiped his hands on a nearby towel.

The argument ended with Clarke storming out of the Blake house, yelling that she would call Octavia when she got home. And for Bellamy to go screw himself.

_Oh, how times have changed._

-

Clarke smiled at her dad in the driver’s seat as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to ACDC. Her father had always been a fan of classic rock, and it was something they had bonded over as she grew up. Her dad often quizzed her on artists and bands of whatever song came on the radio. Sometimes when she wandered into his workspace in the garage to see him all focused and tense, she would turn on the radio to his favorite station to cheer him up. It always made him smile.

“So kiddo,” her dad started as the song ended, “how’s Bellamy? You said he was working on his thesis?”

Clarke nodded, looking down at her hands as she picked at her nails. “Yeah, something about ancient Greece and their influence over other cultures,” she mumbled, and then shrugged. “He was really into it when I called him earlier. Distracted, I guess.”

Jake hummed, lowering the volume on the radio as the next song came on. Not one of his favorites. “Well, I know their architecture was very influential. I bet his paper would be an interesting read.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, slouching down in the passenger seat. “Yeah, it would be if he would let me read it,” she mumbled bitterly. She wasn’t mad at Bellamy, not at all. Just frustrated that she was supposed to go back to school in a week and they weren’t making the most of it.

Jake cast a glance in her direction, a thoughtful look adorning his face. “You ever think he just wants you to read his best work? You know that he’s a perfectionist. Remember when he wrote you that little story for your anniversary, but it wasn’t finished until a month later because it wasn’t _just right_?”

A small smile tugged at Clarke’s lips. “Our first anniversary. He was so nervous when he handed it to me that his hands were shaking.” The original copy of the story was still in a binder back at home, tucked into a memory box in her closet. He had since sent her the digital copy too, but the printed version held a special place for her.

Jake snorted. “Wasn’t it just the history of that one artist… what’s his name?”

“Rembrandt, Dad.”

“Right! Rembrandt. We saw one of his paintings in the Met,” he said, sparing a glance at Clarke.

“We saw several of his paintings, Dad. Remember how I stayed in the one room for over an hour?” Clarke said with a smirk. She remembered finding her father sitting on a bench near the doorway, nearly asleep from waiting for her for so long.

Jake chuckled. “Must have missed some of them.” He sighed, pushing back some of his hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Anyways, the point is, Bellamy isn’t avoiding you on purpose, kid. You know that.”

Clarke sighed, leaning her head back on the black leather seat. “I know. It’s just hard, doing the long distance thing. Every school break we have, the only thing I want to do is spend time with him,” she mumbled. “And I know TonDC isn’t even two hours away. But he’s always busy with work, even on the weekends and… I don’t know. I don’t want to…”

“Lose him?” Jake filled in. “Honey, you know that boy loves you. He has for years now.”

Clarke glanced over at her father, folding her arms over her stomach uneasily. “I think that’s my problem. We’ve been together for a long time now, but we’ve both changed. He’s getting his masters in history, he wants to be a professor; I’m going to be an artist. I want to travel the world, but he won’t want to leave Octavia to fend for herself. I’m worried that we just have different goals.”

It was Jake’s turn to sigh. He removed a hand from the steering wheel, taking her hand in his. “It’s hard, being at this milestone in your life. Figuring out what you want for the future, and if that future is together or not. But the best thing to do is ask him, kiddo. You’re getting worked up over a conversation you haven’t even had yet.”

Clarke gave her father’s hand a squeeze, and gave him a small smile. “Why do you always know exactly what to say?”

Jake chuckled and shook his head. “It’s a dad thing.”

-

Bellamy and Clarke hated each other until a party at Miller’s one warm summer night. Miller’s dad had left on business, leaving his home open for a hang out with their friends.

Clarke had desperately wanted to go, begging her mother for hours. Abby didn’t trust Clarke’s friends, calling them delinquents, bad influences on her daughter. Clarke was eighteen, but still lived with her parents until university started in the fall, so she was subject to their rules.

Jake wasn’t at home to give his input; he was having dinner with Mayor Jaha, talking about the plans for a new city project. Clarke had been friends with Mayor Jaha’s son when they were children, before he tragically passed away due to cancer before his 11th birthday. She’s hated going to his house ever since, feeling uneasy with all of the pictures of Wells on the walls; therefore, even though she’d been invited to tag along, she turned down the offer, staying home with her mother instead.

In the end of their argument, Clarke ended up grabbing her keys and leaving, despite her mother’s wishes.

It was the first time Clarke really allowed herself to let loose. Miller had brought out his dad’s whiskey collection, and Clarke had finished almost a whole bottle by herself by midnight. All of her friends egged her on, impressed with how different she was. She wasn’t the proper, prim woman her parents raised her to be, and something about that fueled Clarke’s motivation.

She stopped dancing for just long enough to grab her whiskey bottle, tilting it up for another sip as a hand caught her wrist. She looked up to see Bellamy, looking both annoyed and concerned. “What?” she mumbled, scowling at him.

“I think you’ve had enough, Princess,” Bellamy said firmly, the old sarcastic nickname dripping off of his tongue. He took the bottle from her and set it back on the table. “Let’s get you outside for some air.”

Clarke tried to fight him, but she was too uncoordinated and sloppy to be of any use to herself in the moment. He managed to get her outside and sit her on the stoop of the porch. She started to sway as she sat, and he grumbled before sitting down beside her, allowing her to use him for balance.

Clarke let out a hiccup and rubbed at her eyes, trying to get rid of the blurriness of her vision. The move smeared her mascara down her cheeks, and she heard Bellamy chuckle from beside her. She looked up to see him staring down at her, noticeably at the misplaced makeup on her cheeks. She felt his hand against her cheek, under her eye, wiping away the smudges. It was such a tender gesture, something she’d only seen him do with Octavia before. Something that her own mother wouldn’t have done for her, even on their best days.

She felt the tears spill out of her eyes before she could stop them. Bellamy froze as a soft sob bubbled from her chest and she turned her head away. She heard him clear his throat before shifting to get up. “Sorry, um, I—“

“It’s not you,” Clarke quickly interrupted, wiping at her cheeks with another hiccup. She turned to face him again, but still avoided eye contact. “It’s just… my mom.”

Bellamy settled back down beside her, allowing her to lean against him. “What about her?”

“Well… she’s not exactly mother-of-the-year, let’s put it that way,” Clarke mumbled. She sniffed and wrapped her arms around herself, although she was anything but cold. With the alcohol still swimming through her body, and the humidity of the air, she was pleasantly warm, her cheeks flushed a rosy red. “She’s rarely ever around. And when she is, she either doesn’t talk to me, or we argue. I don’t think I’ve heard a positive thing come out of her mouth in years. I just can’t do anything right with her.”

Bellamy huffed beside her, lowering his head to fix his gaze on the ground. He was surprisingly serious. Any interaction they had before was either sarcastic or hostile. “Octavia said something about your argument with her over college, about going to TonDC?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “No, she loves TonDC. She doesn’t like my major.”

“What is your major going to be?”

“Art.”

Bellamy let out a chuckle, and Clarke threw an elbow into his side, which barely moved him. However, he did put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, Princess. It’s just hard for me to believe you’ll make any money in that.”

“You haven’t even seen any of my work!” Clarke said indignantly, her cheeks burning, although part of it was from the whiskey. “I’ve already had a few people wanting commissions, but I want to expand my skills, my portfolio. And I can’t do that without an education.”

“What happened to nursing, or being a doctor?” Bellamy mumbled, rubbing his hands together. Was he cold? Or nervous? “O said you were working at that clinic, that you liked it.”

Clarke shrugged, and noticed how much she was leaning on Bellamy. She tried to straighten a little. “I do. But… I don’t know if I could handle it, long term. It’s really stressful, and the hours are insane…”

Bellamy nodded in understanding. “But your mom wants you to be like her,” he murmured, looking down at her, his gaze soft.

“Yeah,” Clarke admitted quietly. “But I’m not. I’m not like her. I… _feel_ so much more for the people I’m working on. When she talks about her patients, she’s so… detached. There were some days at the clinic when I had to fight back tears in front of a sick toddler, or had to listen to the doctor tell someone to see a specialist because they could have cancer and… it became so _much_. I don’t understand how she can be so unfeeling, _uncaring_ sometimes.”

Bellamy was quiet for a moment, and then he looked out into Miller’s backyard, seemingly contemplating something. Then, the dam broke. “It could be worse. Your mom could be a drug addict,” he said quietly, but the bitterness and resentment were clear.

Clarke’s brow furrowed, and she looked up at Bellamy. “Octavia said she was gone a lot, but she never said why,” she responded, just as quietly. It seemed like too delicate of a conversation to be having at full volume. “I just assumed she was working out of town or something.”

Bellamy snorted. “Working the streets, maybe,” he mumbled. “She goes on these binges, just skips town with her dealer for days, weeks… months.” He paused, that contemplative look returning to his face. “When she’s here, she tries to act normal, act like we’re some loving family. Like she didn’t just abandon us for coke. And I try, for Octavia, to be civil. Because O lights up every time she comes home, just like she did when she was little. And it’s sick, but I would do anything to make Octavia that happy, to see her smile.”

Clarke shook her head, her lips pressing together. “No, it’s not sick. It’s called being a good big brother,” she said, looking up at him with a sad smile. “Octavia loves you so damn much. Even when you guys fight, you’re always there for her. And you provide for her. It’s clear you would do anything for her.”

Bellamy met her gaze and nodded. “Someone has to. She’s my sister, my responsibility.”

“My dad does the same thing for me. Tries to be my constant, my rock. We’re so close because of it,” Clarke said, looking up into the night sky. “Sometimes I wonder if we would be so close if my mother actually cared. Like… would he go through all of the extra effort if she gave some effort too?”

Bellamy shrugged, following her gaze up to the stars. “I don’t think we can afford to think like that,” he murmured. “Our mothers are who they are. And we can’t change that.”

Clarke was going to respond until she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. When she looked at the screen, it was full of text messages from her mother, berating her for going to the party. She hadn’t even bothered to look at her phone since she left the house. Clarke sighed and put her phone back in her pocket, and leaned her head against Bellamy’s shoulder; she definitely wouldn’t be this close with him if she were sober.

Bellamy stiffened for a moment before his shoulders relaxed again, resigning. “Thanks for the talk, Princess,” he said softly. “I think we both needed to get some things off of our chests.”

Clarke nodded, smiling a bit. “Hey Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Clarke. Not Princess.”

“Whatever the hell you want, Princess.”

-

“Ugh, I’m stuffed. Are you sure you want popcorn when we get to the theater?” Jake grumbled as he got into the driver’s seat.

Clarke laughed as she buckled herself in. “I told you not to order dessert!”

“It was red velvet! Which is—“

“The best dessert known to mankind,” Clarke filled in, rolling her eyes. Whenever there was a red velvet cake involved, her father could not contain himself. “I know. But now I have no one to share my popcorn with at the theater. And you know I can’t finish the bucket by myself.”

Jake chuckled as he pulled out of the parking lot of the restaurant. They were only five minutes from the theater, so he turned the radio up and they fell into a confortable silence, listening to “I Want to Break Free” by Queen, which was one of Clarke’s favorites. Clarke watched the flurries of snow accumulate into the already large piles on the sides of the road, which seemed to glow in the last bits of light as the sun set beyond the horizon. It was dusk, just light enough to see, but just dark enough for headlights to glow from the cars they passed.

Clarke looked over at her father and smiled, watching him mouth the words to the song and drum his fingers on the wheel. Suddenly, he was illuminated, a halo of light surrounding his face, which shifted into an expression of shock, then panic. A loud screech, a crunch of metal, a moment of weightlessness, and then… she heard the song, still playing through the car speakers…

_I can't get used to living without, living without,_

_Living without you by my side_

_I don't want to live alone, hey_

_God knows, got to make it on my own_


	2. I Hope Someday I’ll Make It Out of Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has some graphic descriptions of injuries. Reader discretion advised.

Clarke woke up on the pavement of the road, her body sprawled out in front of her father’s car. Or, what was left of it, anyways. The whole car seemed like a ball of crumpled up metal, assembled into a vaguely car-shaped heap. The roof was caved in, so much so that it nearly touched the hood on the passenger side. Small flames licked at where the windshield normally was, now just an empty void surrounded by shards of glass hanging from the metal. Two of the doors were torn off, both on the driver’s side. She couldn’t see where they had landed, but that meant very little to her at the moment.

_Dad_.

Her dad. She had been thrown from the car, but he wasn’t anywhere near her. Meaning he was still in the car, trapped. Clarke scrambled to her feet, stumbling over herself as she raced towards the car. “Dad!” she screamed as she neared the driver’s side. Her shoes skidded against the asphalt as she stopped and took in her father’s body.

His head was up against the steering wheel, his skull fractured open from the impact. The wheel itself was covered in blood, dripping from the bottom and landing on her father’s shoes. His shoulder was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and his chest was caved in on his left side. But Clarke noticed his glasses were gone from his face, and she quickly started to look for them.

_Those damn glasses were always sliding down_ …

Her eyes caught something odd. A hand, against her father’s right leg, the wrist clearly bent at the wrong angle. It wasn’t her father’s hand; the fingers were much too slender. She bent down slightly to get a closer look, as the roof of the car was caved down too far for her to see properly. That’s when she noticed the dark green sweatshirt sleeve, from the same TonDC sweatshirt she was wearing at the moment.

She bent down further, a shiver of cold running up her spine as the sirens sounded in the distance. The very ends of her blond hair came into view, some of the strands dripping red. It was undeniably her hair, undeniably her shirt.

Undeniably her.

-

Raven had been one of Clarke’s best friends since her senior year in high school. After they discovered that Finn was using Clarke to cheat on Raven, they banded together to shame him, made sure everyone knew what a douchebag he was. Their friendship started off as simply enjoying revenge on Finn, and turned into something deeper, more sincere. Raven loved to come over to hang out with Clarke and talk to her dad about mechanics and engineering.

That’s why when Raven got hurt working in her garage one weekend during the summer, Clarke’s dad was the first one to offer to come to the hospital with her. Turns out, as Raven was working under a car fixing the axel, one of the jacks gave out, causing the car to fall on her leg. Her knee dislocated, and she also tore her ACL, which required surgery. Clarke expected her to be out of it when they came to her room, considering the types of meds she would have to be on for pain and swelling, but she lit up when Clarke and Jake walked in.

“How’s my favorite mechanic doing?” Jake asked with a smile, sitting in the ugly hospital chair next to Raven’s bed. Clarke chose to perch on the edge of Raven’s bed instead.

“Hey Mr. G. I’m doing okay, now that they’ve lowered my pain meds. I hate feeling doped up,” Raven grumbled, looking down as Clarke grabbed her hand.

“You should take advantage of those meds, Raven. Isn’t your leg killing you?” Clarke said worriedly.

Raven shrugged. “Yeah, it hurts, I’m not going to lie. But laying here out of my mind isn’t going to help anything. Doc said since the surgery went well, I could probably start physical therapy tomorrow or the next day.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Why did I ever think you’d sit still and get some rest?”

“Griffin, you know me better than that!” Raven said with a laugh. “I’m getting back to my garage as soon as I can. I’m working on this sick sound system for that ’72 Chevy truck, and I can’t wait to blast it.”

Clarke smiled as she listened to Raven and her dad talk back and forth about the new projects each of them was working on. Her dad had once told her that Raven could very well take over his job once he retired, and Clarke knew it was true. Raven was the smartest girl she’d ever known, a genius mechanic studying engineering at Arkadia College. She could take apart or build anything you could dream of, in record time. The world had big plans for Raven Reyes, and her leg wasn’t going to slow her down. Her fight wasn’t over yet.

-

“No pulse!”

Clarke was standing off to the side of the wreckage, near what was left of the passenger door the firemen had just pried off of her dad’s car. She peered around the shoulders of the EMTs who were crowding her body, slouched in the passenger seat. Once of them had their fingers on her neck, blood from her hairline dripping over their gloved hand. Clarke’s fingers shook as she took in what little she could see of her body.

_This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening._

“We need the spinal board!” yelled a different paramedic. “And a leg splint!”

Clarke backed up as more EMTs showed up with equipment, trying to stay out of the way; although, in reality, it didn’t matter. She was clearly not in her own body. _Am I dead?_ She wondered, lifting up her hands to get a look at them. Her body, the one in the car, was clearly hurt, disfigured. But looking down at the body she was in, it was untouched. Her outfit looked the same as it had when they left the house, and she could move without any pain.

It was like a state of suspense, a numbness that was unexplainable. The world around her spun as she stood still, taking it all without absorbing any of it. The paramedics carefully moving her body out of the car and laying her on that stiff spinal board brought her attention back to the present. A lump formed in her throat when she saw her right leg, her jeans torn open, exposing the bone that was sticking out of her skin.

“Starting compressions! Bag her!”

Clarke found herself wandering away as they started CPR, rounding to the other side of the car where they were removing her father from the wreckage. A police officer walked up to the paramedics, looking down at her father’s body with a melancholy expression.

“DOA?” he asked, to which the paramedics nodded.

_Dead on arrival._

Clarke turned away as they laid a tarp over her father’s body, swallowing hard against the knot in her throat.

“What about the other driver?” the policeman asked, writing down something in his notebook.

“Already left. They’re taking him to Ark General,” one of the paramedics replied.

“And they’re going to perform the tox screen?”

“Yeah, but he had an open container in the middle console. It seems like a classic case of drunk driving.”

“Road conditions were bad too, some patches of ice down that way.”

“And the girl?” The officer nodded his head towards the other side of the car, where a different team was working on Clarke’s body.

“No pulse, but she’s got a chance. Life Flight is too far out, but if we get her in the ambulance soon, we can be at the hospital in ten.”

“Let’s hope she pulls through.”

Clarke watched the officer walk away, back towards his patrol car.

“We’ve got a pulse! Let’s move!”

She spun around, just in time to see the paramedics lift her body onto a stretcher. She had to jog to keep up with them, rushing into the ambulance before they shut the doors. _What would happen if I didn’t go with them?_ Clarke shoved herself in an unoccupied corner near the back doors. She watched, dazed, as they began her on an IV and shoved a tube down her throat, attached to a pump to keep her breathing. The two paramedics in the back kept communicating back and forth, talking about vitals and stats and levels. Then, the nice looking brunette EMT leaned over her body and moved her bloodstained hair away from her face.

“Keep on fighting. You still got a whole life to live.”


	3. Isn’t It Lovely, All Alone?

The injuries seem to be never ending. There’s a lot of talk about Clarke’s collapsed lung, pierced by one of her broken ribs. She lost a lot of blood, mostly from internal bleeding, her open fracture, as well as the gash on her head. They had wheeled her directly into surgery as soon as the ambulance pulled up in front of the ER doors. Her broken wrist seems to be an afterthought to the doctors, but it dawns on Clarke that it’s her left wrist, her dominant side. While it isn’t life threatening, it is future threatening; if her wrist remains damaged, her painting career will be down the tubes.

Clarke stands in the corner of the corner of the operating room, watching from afar as they work on her body. There are two surgeons, one working on her lungs, and another working on her leg. She vaguely realizes that one of the surgeons is her mother’s coworker, Dr. Jackson, and she wonders if he knows who she is. She’s seen him in staff photos in newsletters from the hospital, but she wasn’t sure if her mother had ever shown him pictures of her.

_Does my mother know? Has anyone told her?_

Clarke froze, a thought occurring to her, screamed into her head.

_Does Bellamy know?_

Clarke’s head turned as the doors opened, and she took her chance, slipping out before they closed. She had quickly learned that, while she did not have a physical form, she couldn’t just phase through things like ghosts in movies did.

Which should be encouraging. If she’s not a ghost, she’s not dead.

But she wasn’t exactly alive, either.

She shuffled around hurried nurses, spinning around, trying to get her bearings. She had been in this hospital before, for checkups and to visit her mother, but never in this section. As she turned, the familiar sound of her mother’s voice appeared from the end of the hallway.

“And her head?”

Clarke whipped around, finally spotting her mother, talking with a nurse.

“Skull fracture, some brain contusions, which is causing swelling. Doctor Jackson is recommending we keep her under for at least 24 hours, allow the brain to heal before even starting to try to wake her up,” the nurse said, looking down at her clipboard.

Clarke moved closer to them, an uneasiness settling in her stomach as she got closer to her mother. She expected to see her mother grieving, broken down. She had just lost her husband; her daughter was in critical condition. Any normal person would be a mess, sobbing on the floor. Not Abby Griffin. She stood tall, her shoulders back, her chin raised as she appraised the nurse in front of her. Her expression was guarded, as always, a perfect mask of neutrality.

“Is there anyone I can call for you? Family? Friends?” the nurse offered, her voice timid.

_Bellamy. Call Bellamy._

Abby shook her head, lowering it slightly. Anyone who didn’t know her might think she looked burdened. Clarke knew her better. “No. I’m all she has left now.”

-

When Bellamy had invited Clarke to Becca Franko’s newest art exhibit, she wasn’t sure what to think. Becca was Clarke’s favorite current artist, known for her brilliant digital work and installations. Going through her exhibitions felt like being in a different world, surrounded by things you never thought possible. The installations played tricks on your mind, projecting falsehoods into your imagination. Clarke’s favorite piece was what she called the rain room. Projected throughout the room was the image of what looked like rain, which reflected and moved on pieces of fabric hung from the ceiling. Just being in that installation brought a sense of peacefulness, unlike Clarke had ever felt before. That’s when she truly fell in love with Becca’s work.

However, she had never expected Bellamy to ask her to go to Becca’s newest exhibit with him. They had only become friends earlier that summer, at Miller’s party. And they definitely didn’t hang out without the rest of their friends. They had become close though, often choosing to sit near each other at hangouts and bantering back and forth jokingly. It was… nice. Their friends often teased them, joking about them crushing on each other. Clarke was often the first to brush it off, although she would be lying if she said she didn’t feel _anything_ towards him. But he was her best friend’s older brother, and she wasn’t going to be the one to break that boundary.

So, instead of agreeing right away, Clarke squinted her eyes up at Bellamy. “How did you even know she was in town?”

Bellamy’s face flushed and he shrugged, his gaze shifting down to his feet. “Saw it in the paper and I remembered you had talked about her before.”

Clarke let out a snort. “Okay, first of all, how did you remember that? And second of all, you read the paper? You’re 20. You’re too young to be a grandpa.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but a smirk formed on his lips. “Shut up, Princess. Do you want to go tomorrow or not?”

Clarke’s smile seemed to brighten the room. “Pick me up at 4. I’ll be ready.”

And sure enough, when Bellamy’s beat-up Ford truck rolled into the Griffins’ driveway, Clarke was waiting on the porch, buzzing with excitement. She wore a blue dress that hugged her torso and flared out at the waist, a tan-colored cardigan draped off of her shoulders because she knew how cold the gallery could be. Bellamy was underdressed in comparison, but he didn’t seem to mind.

She dragged him through the whole exhibit, admiring and talking about the works one-by-one. He watched her the whole time, listening quietly to her ramble on and on about the features of each piece. He simply watched as the skylights of the gallery allowed light to bounce off of her blonde hair, how she squinted her eyes to examine the tiniest details, how focused she was on each and every piece. The exhilaration came off of her in waves.

And when they got separated, Clarke didn’t notice he had left. She was only broken out of her fixation when Bellamy grabbed her hand, a smile lighting up his features. “Clarke, you gotta see this. You’re going to love it.”

Their fingers laced together as he brought her into a dark room. Sure enough, Becca had brought her rain room to his exhibition. The drops of blue lights cascaded down from the tall ceiling, dancing upon the ribbons of mesh scattered throughout the room. Clarke tightened her grip on Bellamy’s hand, not wanting to lose him in the dark. He gave her hand a squeeze in return. A reassurance.

_I’m right here._

-

Clarke found herself sitting in the chair in the far corner of her hospital room, her knees drawn up to her chest as she watched the pump beside her bed fill her broken lungs with oxygen. She was in a private room in the ICU, something her mother had managed to negotiate, although she didn’t stick around much after Clarke’s gurney was wheeled in from surgery.

Six hours. Six hours is what it took to repair her broken body.

Dr. Jackson had mentioned something about a possible relapse in her lung function, hence the machine breathing for her. The beeping of the heart monitor had just become a background noise, although whenever it faltered, Clarke sat up a little straighter until it evened out again. Every once in a while, a nurse would come into her room, check her vitals, and then exit again. One even changed the IV drip, replacing an empty blood bag with a bag of clear fluid. Other than that, her room was empty. Just her and… her body.

_Why hasn’t anyone come for me? Raven? Bellamy? Octavia? Murphy? Emori? Monty? Harper? Miller?_

Logically, Clarke knew that they had no idea. It was now past midnight, and while Bellamy was probably still awake writing his paper, the rest of her friends were probably asleep. However, it didn’t stop the isolation from spreading through her. She had lost her father, the person she was closest to in the entire world. Her mother had left her room, not bothering to stay by her bedside to watch over her. She hadn’t even bothered to let Clarke’s friends know of what transpired, allowing them to be blissfully ignorant to this tragedy.

Clarke rested her forehead on her knees, squeezing her eyes shut. Sobs wracked her chest, her tears dripping down her cheeks, but she couldn’t feel the wetness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the next chapter, lol.


	4. Heart Made of Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves.

Bellamy yawned, shaking his head to fight off sleep. It was nearing one in the morning, and he knew he should go to bed, but he was on a roll with his thesis, and he couldn’t bear to stop now. He had resigned himself to an all-nighter, promising to sleep after his shift at the paper in the morning. His fingers tapped against the keys, his eyes straining against the light coming from his laptop.

_I really need to switch to my glasses. My contacts are so dry._

A chime from his email broke his focus, and he quickly opened the message.

_Blake,_

_I need you to cover a breaking story. A full article by no later than noon._

_That city engineer, Jake Griffin, died in a car crash last night. He founded that whole greener initiative that Mayor Jaha funded. His daughter was in the car too, and from what I heard, it isn’t looking good. I got all the details in the attachment; you should be able to whip something up quickly. Paint him as a hero or something – readers will like that._

_-Pike_

Bellamy’s blood ran cold, his heart pumping ice through his veins. He pushed his laptop off of his lap, his hands scrambling to find his phone that he _swore_ he had right next to him. His head swirled with panic, his heart racing, his fingers trembling. It couldn’t be true. He had talked to Clarke just that afternoon. She didn’t have any plans; she was going to stay at home, work on some drawings. This all had to be a mistake.

His fingers grasped his phone, looking at the screen. A message from Clarke, marked from 6:02 pm sat unread on his lock screen.

_Going to the movies with my dad. Hope your paper is going well! :D_

Bellamy swallowed hard against the knot in his throat, pulling up her messages. His eyes burned from quickly forming tears, and he cursed himself for not taking out his contacts sooner. The screen was blurry, but he managed to pull up her contact and press ‘call’.

It didn’t even ring once. Just went straight to voicemail, her chipper voice giving him directions to leave a message.

“Octavia!” he bellowed, clutching his phone in his hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. He raced down the hall to her bedroom, stumbling over his feet and throwing open the door. His fingers fumbled for the light switch and brightness flooded the room.

Octavia groaned and wiped at her eyes before squinting up at her older brother. Her hair was wild from sleep, sticking out of her messy bun in all directions. “What the hell, Bellamy? What time is it?”

Bellamy could feel his hands shaking as he reached up to grip his hair in his fists, tugging hard. Anything he could do to tether himself. “We gotta go. She’s – Hospital, we have to – Fuck, O, I can’t – “ His words came out between gasps of oxygen, which couldn’t fill his lungs. He felt like he was suffocating, a heavy weight crushing his chest.

Octavia sat up, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand a word her brother was saying. “Bell, what happened?”

“He’s dead, and she’s – Clarke, she’s – “ A sob ripped out of him and he crumpled, his knees buckling under the weight of his world crashing down.

He felt Octavia’s hands on his shoulders, her gentle coos trying to get him to focus. His head was spinning, his lungs were crushed, his eyes burned. Instead of trying to get the words out, his shaking fingers managed to pull the email up on his phone and he shoved it into her hands.

There was a pause before Octavia gasped, immediately righting herself to her feet. Bellamy couldn’t bring himself to look up as Octavia pushed past him. He heard her rummaging through things in different rooms, even heard a clatter as something knocked to the floor, but nothing seemed to matter. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough oxygen to his brain to think straight anymore. His lungs were on fire, desperate for a full breath that he couldn’t give them.

“Get up,” Octavia commanded from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder at her. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder, her car keys in her hand. Her hair was still a mess, and her pajamas were rumpled and wrinkled. She huffed and grabbed his wrist, giving him a pull. “Come on, I’m getting you to the hospital. We can call everyone else on the way.”

It was a struggle to get to Octavia’s car, with how lightheaded he was. But he managed to climb into the passenger’s seat and buckle in. His hands found his hair again, pushing the untamed curls away from his face and gripping tightly.

“Bring your knees up to your chest and tuck your head between your legs,” Octavia said firmly as she pulled the car out of the driveway. With one hand on the wheel and the other on Bellamy’s phone, she started dialing their friends.

Raven was the first to pick up, her voice filled with sleep. “Bellamy? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Raven, it’s Octavia,” his sister said, sending a glance in Bellamy’s direction. He was doing his best to follow her instructions, but the dizziness hadn’t subsided. “Clarke’s in the hospital, and it’s not good. How fast can you get there?”

There was a thump on the other end of the line, followed by a string of swearing from Raven. “I’ll be there in 15. What room?”

“We’ll find out when we get there. I’ll send everyone a text. Can you call Murphy and Emori for us?”

“Of course,” Raven said before hanging up.

Octavia glanced at her brother again, the knuckles on her hand turning white from how hard she was gripping the steering wheel. She was holding it together, but barely. Octavia remained levelheaded in most high-stress situations. That’s what made her so good at boxing and other sports. Luckily she had enough adrenaline to focus on the task at hand. “Miller next?” she asked, and Bellamy nodded quickly. He couldn’t imagine trying to get through this without his best friend.

His sister finished calling everyone by the time they got to the hospital. They pulled into the ER parking lot, figuring that would be the place where they would have brought Clarke. Bellamy tried his best to slow his heart rate and look relatively normal, but it was too late. His hands shook, his hair was a mess, and his erratic breathing was a dead giveaway.

When they got to the front desk, the nurse was attending to some paperwork, but did look up as Octavia put her hands on the desk.

“We were told you had a patient come in, her name is Clarke Griffin. We just want to know what room she’s in,” the younger Blake said, her voice quivering. It was the only outward sign of how anxious she was.

The nurse turned to her computer, typing in the name. Her brow furrowed. “It looks like she got moved to the ICU after surgery. Room 3102.”

Octavia nodded, giving the nurse a brief smile, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

Octavia took Bellamy’s hand, guiding him to the elevators. She looked up at him as the lift started, giving his hand a squeeze. “She’s going to be okay, Bell.”

Bellamy looked at her, his eyes rimmed in red. “Her dad is dead, O,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “Even if she heals… he was her favorite person. She won’t ever be the same again.”

Octavia nodded, pursing her lips. She knew he was right. Even if Clarke made it out of this, even if she healed, there would be a permanent hole in her heart. Her life would never be the same again. “We just have to be there for her.”

“I always am,” Bellamy replied monotonously, staring at the elevator doors.

-

“What would you think if I cut my hair?”

Bellamy blinked, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Cut your hair?” he repeated. “Like, what? How many inches?”

Clarke giggled over the phone, and Bellamy longed to see her laugh in person. It had been a month since he had last visited, and it was killing him. “I don’t know. I’m just sick of it being in my way. I was thinking about shoulder length, maybe above that.”

Bellamy shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. He set his history textbook aside. “It’s up to you, Princess. You know I’d be happy with anything.”

He could practically hear her rolling his eyes. “But you’re the one who likes my hair braided,” she murmured, and Bellamy’s face flushed. He could only imagine her cheeks were the same. “You wrap it around your hand to pull it when we-“

“Hey, slow down,” Bellamy interrupted, rubbing a hand against his cheek and smiling. “Just keep it long enough for me to be able to run my fingers through and I’ll be happy.”

Clarke’s laugh chimed through the phone again, and Bellamy felt warmth spread through his chest. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Alright. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow then.”

Bellamy smiled, pushing up from his bed to walk to his dresser. “Whatever you do, Clarke Griffin, I’ll always be there, being your biggest fan.”

Clarke hummed thoughtfully. “You might have to fight my dad for that spot,” she said, although a hint of teasing came through.

Bellamy snorted. “He can have it. I’ll be your second-biggest fan then. I think your dad and I could make a pretty good team.”

“And I’m the luckiest, to have both of you in my life.”

-

Octavia managed to find the ICU waiting room rather quickly, as it wasn’t far from the elevators. Every seat was empty, presumably because of the time of night. The waiting room was separated from the ICU rooms by a glass door with a keycard lock. She quickly sent a text to their friends, letting them know where they were, before walking up to the Nurse’s station that was next to the glass door.

“We’re here to see Clarke Griffin.”

“Are you immediate family?” the nurse replied, raising an eyebrow. Anyone could tell that Octavia and Bellamy looked nothing like Clarke.

Octavia pursed her lips. “Her only remaining immediate family is her mother. We came for extra support,” she tried, knowing it was a long shot. Hospital rules were strict.

The nurse shook her head. “Sorry, hun. Immediate family only.”

Octavia tried not to look angry. “Can you at least ask her mother? I’m sure she’s in Clarke’s room now.”

The nurse raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder to glance into the second room. “No, her room is empty currently.”

“Empty?” Bellamy echoed, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“As far as I know, her last visitor left about an hour and a half ago,” the nurse replied, her eyebrows furrowed.

Bellamy took a deep breath, tension forming in his shoulders. “Do me a favor. Page Abby Griffin, tell her to come down to the ICU.”

“Sir, I can’t-“

“Please,” Bellamy shot back, hating the way his voice broke.

The nurse nodded, picking up her phone. Bellamy backed off, retreating to slump into one of the chairs, letting his head fall back against the back of the seat. Octavia sat next to him, mirroring his pose.

It wasn’t long until the waiting room filled with their friends, most of them still in their pajamas. Monty’s glasses were crooked on his face, Harper tucked into his side with hair falling out of her bun. Murphy looked surprisingly alert, pacing the floor as Emori sat in one of the chairs, fiddling with her hands in her lap. Raven leaned against the wall, her arms crossed against her chest. Miller sat next to Bellamy, a quiet contemplation settling over his form. Octavia had managed to fill them all in on the little information they knew, but the heaviness in the room was palpable. The anxiety was suffocating.

They all straightened as Abby walked into the room, still in a doctor’s coat, her hair pulled back from her face in a half up-do. Bellamy was the first to stand.

“Bellamy,” Abby greeted, her eyes scanning over the rest of the room, a scowl settling over her features. The mask she wore was hard to read, but they all knew she thought of them with disdain. The delinquents, in her eyes.

“How is she?” Bellamy asked, not bothering to greet her in return. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying desperately to ground himself. He felt a hand slide around his wrist, and glanced over to see Octavia standing beside him, holding onto his arm.

Abby focused back on him, and slowly shook her head. “Skull fracture, brain contusions, punctured lung, broken ribs, open fracture to the right leg, shattered left wrist. She’s lucky to be alive,” she said quietly, glancing back behind the glass towards Clarke’s room.

Bellamy’s brow furrowed, a heat starting to burn in his chest. “And… you’re not with her?”

Abby raised an eyebrow, shocked that he would challenge her. “Pardon me, but I’ve been quite busy making plans for a funeral.” Her voice was biting.

Bellamy wanted to bite back, wanted to say that her daughter needed her _now_ , that the funeral could wait. But Octavia spoke up from beside him. “How did this even happen?”

Abby lowered her head, and something similar to anger flashed over her features, but she quickly regained her composure. “Drunk driver and ice-covered roads. He’s in police custody now. Walked away with a broken collarbone and some minor cuts and bruises.”

Bellamy’s eyes flashed to Raven, who looked like she was about to punch something. She knew all too well what drinking could do to a person based on her experience with her mom. It was a touchy subject with her. They locked eyes and Bellamy shook his head, silently urging her to maintain her composure. He then looked back at Abby. “If you don’t mind, we want to see her,” he pleaded, his desperation clear on his features. He was tired, defeated, broken. He needed to see her more than he needed air in his lungs.

Abby met his gaze, searching his face, and then looking around the room at the rest of them. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but she seemed to lose her fight. Maybe she didn’t care enough in the first place. “I’ll put you all on a specialized visitation list, but only three of you in her room at a time.”

Bellamy nodded, his shoulders slouching with relief. “Thank you.”

Abby nodded and walked over to the nurse to have a hushed conversation. Bellamy turned back to the group, wiping a hand over his face. “Alright, who first?”

“You, obviously,” Harper piped up, nodding her head at Bellamy.

Octavia nodded in agreement. “Bellamy stays. The rest of us can rotate, two at a time.”

Murphy sat down in a chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’ll wait,” he mumbled, an uneasiness settling over his form. Bellamy didn’t have the energy to worry about it in the moment, but made a mental note to come back to the issue later.

They finally decided that Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven would be the first ones in the room. They gave the nurse a nod and she buzzed them in, giving a nod in return. One of the other nurses met them on the other side of the door, clipboard in hand. She had dark brown, curly hair, and her nametag said ‘Maya Vie’. She stopped them before they got to Clarke’s door. Bellamy looked at her, confused.

She gave then a small smile, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just wanted to warn you. She probably doesn’t look much like herself right now. We have her on a ventilator to regulate breathing, and she’s got a lot of equipment to help her out. Just be mindful. You can hold her right hand as long as you mind the IV, and you can hold her left if you are careful of the cast.”

Bellamy nodded, trying to absorb everything she said, but most of it was just noise. Clarke was just beyond that door, and everything in his body was screaming to go to her. “Anything else?”

Maya nodded. “Talk to her. There are studies that show comatose patients can recover faster when they hear the voices of their loved ones.”

Bellamy swallowed heavily. “Thank you,” he murmured, then looked at the door. He took a shaky breath before stepping inside.


	5. Shouldn't Be Said Out Loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have joined me for this story so far. It's been a pleasure to read your comments. Thank you also to the person who called me out on Twitter for not updating. I see you, and here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Clarke looked up as she heard voices from the hallway. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was enough to peak her interest. She ran her fingers across her cheeks, trying to wipe away the exhaustion she felt, but failing. She was so tired, so alone, so broken.

_Maybe I should have gone with Dad._

Clarke froze as the thought crossed her mind. Guilt swept over her, and she tried to suppress it. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, not now.

Her door creaked open, and she expected the nice brunette nurse to walk in, maybe check her vitals again. It hadn’t been that long since the last check, and from what she could tell, nothing had changed. Still, she found comfort every time the nurse walked in, like someone was looking out for her. However, it wasn’t the nurse, not this time.

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she breathed.

Clarke stood up from her chair, her eyes widening as Octavia and Raven followed. They all froze near the doorway, staring at her body in the hospital bed. Clarke came closer, standing along side of them, a smile tugging at her lips as she looked them over. “ _You came_ ,” she whispered, wanting desperately to reach out to them, but knowing they wouldn’t feel it.

“She looks so…” Raven whispered, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around her torso.

“Small,” Octavia concluded, looking over at Raven.

Bellamy, unphased by their words, was the first to step forward. He pulled one of the recliner chairs closer to Clarke’s bed on the right side, sitting down gingerly. Clarke followed him, watching as he gently picked up her hand, nestling it in his own. She desperately wanted to be able to feel it, to be able to squeeze his hand in return, to lace her fingers between his. But she couldn’t.

Octavia and Raven moved to sit on a loveseat on the left side of her bed, just next to the window overlooking the city. It was close enough that if they wanted to touch her, they could. But they didn’t.

A cold silence fell over the room, as if any words would break apart the atmosphere. The beeping of her heart monitor was deafening in a room this silent. Clarke watched as Bellamy stroked his thumb over her knuckles, his gaze focused on their hands.

“Do you think she knows?” Octavia asked suddenly, and both Raven and Bellamy looked at her with confusion. “About her dad, I mean. Do you think she knows he’s gone?”

Raven shook her head. “How would she?”

Octavia shrugged, leaning against the armrest, shifting uneasily. “I would think if you lost someone that important to you, you’d just… know.”

“What, like a premonition? A feeling?” Raven replied sarcastically. She looked over at Clarke’s body and shook her head. “For her sake… I hope she doesn’t know.”

Now it was Octavia’s turn to look confused. “Why not?”

“Because if she knew, then it would make it harder to fight, to come back. Her dad meant everything to her. Without him…” Raven trailed off, but her intentions were clear. What left did she have to come back to?

Bellamy visibly paled, and he shook his head. “Clarke is a fighter. She’ll wake up. She has to,” he murmured, his gaze shifting to Clarke’s face. He lifted one of his hands to gently move a piece of hair out of Clarke’s face, being very cautious with the bandage at her hairline and the tube shoved down her throat.

Clarke sat at the foot of the hospital bed, facing Bellamy. “ _I’m right here, Bell. I’m here_ ,” she whispered. “ _I don’t… I don’t know how to wake up. I can’t_.”

“She has to,” Bellamy repeated, capsuling her hand once more.

-

“Hey Bellamy! Where’s your head at, man?”

Bellamy smiled at Miller, lifting his beer in greeting. He wasn’t even sure which of his friends had started calling them ‘ _the heart and the head’_ , but it had stuck around. Both he and Clarke had grown quite fond of it regardless. “She’s coming. Had to go to some benefit dinner with her mom and dad.”

Miller chuckled and clinked his glass with Bellamy’s, causing the liquid inside to slosh around. “Here’s to the fancy life, then. How did you manage to grab a girl like her? She’s way out of your league,” he teased.

“Oh, he’s the lucky one, that’s for sure,” Octavia piped in as she sauntered up to them. Another summer, another party at Miller’s, and everyone was there. Well, save Raven, given she was housebound with her leg injury at the moment. “Clarke could have had some hot-shot doctor, or a successful politician. Instead she’s stuck with this nerd, who rambles about history and Greek mythology.” She bumped her shoulder against her brother’s arm with a smile.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, turning his head to scan the crowd. Clarke had said she would be there by now, but she was nowhere to be seen. He caught Monty drinking from a flask and passing it to Harper, who took a sip as well. Murphy and Emori were cuddled up on the couch, his arm slung around her shoulders, her head tucked against his neck.

Bellamy felt his phone vibrate from his pocket and pulled it out. A message from Clarke lit up his screen.

_Look up ;)_

Bellamy’s brow furrowed, but he lifted his head, turning around. Clarke waved from the second story balcony, smiling down at him, her hair hanging in tendrils around her face. Bellamy’s face lit up and he went inside, climbing the stairs to the second floor. Clarke met him at the top of the landing, still dressed from her dinner with her parents. She wore an off-the-shoulder blue dress, which hugged the curves of her body perfectly. Her hair was pinned up, the natural waves framing her face as the hair relaxed. Her makeup enhanced the blue in her eyes, making them seem brighter somehow.

Bellamy stopped in his tracks, still one step below her. “Clarke you look… stunning,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was just barely taller than him, the step and her heels to her advantage.

Clarke smiled brightly at him, moving her arms to wrap around his neck. “Had to look nice. The donors for the go-green project were there.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Cage included?”

Clarke sighed heavily, resting her forehead against his. “Yes. He wouldn’t shut up all dinner. Tried to get me to agree to a date with him ‘for the betterment of our families’.”

Bellamy pulled her closer to him, tilting his head up to capture her lips in a kiss. It started soft, as most of them did, but this one intensified to something more. Her hands were in his hair, and his trailed down her sides to her hips, pulling her flush against him.

When they finally broke apart to catch their breath, Clarke laughed, light and airy. “Miss me, Bell?”

Bellamy smiled, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Always.”

Clarke sighed, gently running her fingers through his curls. “I can’t believe school starts back up in two weeks. This summer flew by,” she mumbled, disappointment clear in her tone.

“I know. But remember, I got the second weekend of September off, so I’m coming to see you,” Bellamy said with a small smile. “And this year, you have your own place. No roommates to bother us.”

Clarke’s cheeks flushed, and she lowered her head. “The walls are still thin. We have to be quiet,” she mumbled, burying her head against his neck.

Bellamy chuckled, placing his hands at her sides. “You’re not very good at that, are you Princess?” he teased.

Clarke stifled her laugh, pulling away from him. She took his hand, leading him to the balcony where he first saw her. They settled into the cushioned patio bench, Clarke curled up against his side, Bellamy’s arm pulling her close. They were quiet for a moment, listening to their friends chatter from below.

“We should probably go down and join the others,” Clarke murmured, although her tone conveyed that she was perfectly content where they were.

Bellamy hummed. “In a few minutes. Let’s have some time all to ourselves.”

Clarke nodded, nuzzling her head into the crook of Bellamy’s neck. Her breath tickled, sending a shiver up his spine. “Promise me you’ll come up as much as you can,” she murmured.

Bellamy pursed his lips. While he was grateful for Clarke’s help in finding the job at the paper, it was demanding, often requiring him to work long hours on the weekends. “I’ll try,” he muttered. After a pause, he sighed. “I know it isn’t always easy, Clarke. Long distance isn’t ideal.”

Clarke nodded, stroking her hand down his side. “Moments like these make it all worth it, though,” she murmured, tilting her head up to look at him. “And once we’re both done with school, we won’t have to be separated anymore.”

Bellamy smiled. “You’re willing to wait that long?”

“We can get through this,” she replied, placing her hand over his heart. “Together.”

“Together,” Bellamy echoed, sealing their promise.

-

Clarke walked aimlessly around her room as Raven and Octavia talked in hushed whispers. Bellamy hadn’t moved from his seat, though Clarke could tell he was exhausted. She wanted to tell him it was okay if he wanted to take a nap, to lean the recliner back and rest. It’s not like she was going to wake up any time soon. The nurses were keeping her sedated until Dr. Jackson gave the okay. Even if she wanted to wake up, she couldn’t.

Octavia got up from the small couch, stepping closer to Clarke’s body. She seemed hesitant at first, and it made Clarke’s heart ache. They were never hesitant with each other. They were fire and ice, clashing at the worst of times and complimenting each other in the best. They were close, having known each other since freshman year of high school. They were never afraid to do anything for the other person, no matter how awkward, intimidating, or intimate. Nothing about their friendship was hesitant.

Octavia lingered at her bedside, her gaze flickering over Clarke’s face, but being drawn to all of the bandages, tubes, and wires. Her eyes stopped at Clarke’s wrist, covered by her cast.

“She’s going to be mad,” Octavia mumbled, causing Bellamy to look up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Her painting hand,” she explained, gesturing down to the cast. “She’s got that art show coming up and I know she still has a few paintings to finish.”

Bellamy paled and he lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Something tells me that painting is the least of her worries right now,” he mumbled in return.

Octavia pursed her lips and rounded the bed, coming over to Bellamy’s side. Clarke stepped back, pressing herself up against the wall, watching as Octavia put a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “You should take this time to clean up. I brought your glasses and contacts case, the least you should do is take out your contacts.”

Bellamy was silent for a moment, before his shoulders slumped. “I can’t leave her,” he whispered quietly, shaking his head. His voice sounded defeated, aching from the inside out.

Octavia sighed. “Bellamy, the bathroom is less than 10 feet away, and she’s not going to wake up. I’m sure she would understand if your eyes hurt.”

_I like his glasses better anyways_ , Clarke thought, her gaze drifting to the bag Octavia had dropped by the doorway. She walked over to it, bending down to run her fingers over the zippers. The touch felt muted, as if she was experiencing it through a filter, or remembering what zippers felt like through a memory. She looked back at Bellamy.

He was looking at the bag, but it looked like he was looking at her. Seeing _her_ , the out-of-body her. It startled her, until she realized that he was looking right through her.

“Fine,” he breathed, standing up and letting go of Clarke’s hand. Clarke backed away from the bag, watching him pick it up and rummage through it for his glasses. He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“We should rotate out. Let the others come in,” Raven said, and Octavia turned to look at her.

“ _Others_?” Clarke breathed aloud. “ _Who else is here?”_

Octavia nodded, and Raven stood up, joining arms with Octavia and leaning against her. Clarke cocked her head to the side. The two girls were friends, of course, but neither of them were particularly close to one another. They hung out with Clarke together, but as far as Clarke knew, they never hung out one-on-one. However, the more she thought about it, the more Clarke realized that in a time like this, they needed as much support as they could get, even if it was from each other.

_They’ll be fine. No matter what happens_.

Clarke shuffled after them, briefly glancing back at her body as they left the room. Her feet dragged as she followed them down the hall, the movement draining her. She wondered where her energy had gone, why she was feeling so weak. She tried to tell herself that it shouldn’t be this hard, that she was just tired and if she slept, it would be better.

_What happens if I go to sleep? Would I wake up?_

Clarke shook her head, suppressing the thought. She wouldn’t sleep, not until she figured out how to get back into her body. She looked over as she passed the nurses’ station, a half smile tugging at her lips as she saw Nurse Vie take a long swig from her coffee mug. She felt like she could use some right now too.

Clarke’s attention swiveled back to Octavia and Raven as they walked back out into the waiting room. Her eyes widened as she took in her friends, all waiting for her. Monty, Harper, Murphy, Emori, Miller. Murphy looked pale, his knee bouncing rapidly from his seat. Emori straightened as Raven and Octavia walked through the doors, causing the rest of the group to stand at attention as well.

“So? How is she?” Harper asked, clinging to Monty’s arm. Clarke smiled at her disheveled appearance. Harper never looked this unkempt, always going for a clean look. It was funny to see her in her wrinkled pajamas with her hair ruffled from sleep.

“It’s… not good. They’re keeping her sedated, doing an MRI and CT scan first thing when the sun comes up,” Octavia mumbled, wiping her hand down her face.

“She’s pretty fragile right now. Could go either way,” Raven added. “I had a talk with the nurse in the hallway, privately. Her brain has suffered a lot of trauma. Could cause seizures or a stroke.”

Clarke shifted uncomfortably. It was unsettling to hear them talk about how broken she was.

Monty visibly swallowed. “Well… can we see her? Me and Harper? Unless anyone else wants to go…” he trailed off, looking at the rest of their friends.

Miller shook his head. “Go. We’ll be here.”

Emori nodded, taking Murphy’s hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll wait.”

_How long will they wait for me?_ Clarke thought, and it chilled her to the core.


	6. Once We've Both Said Our Goodbyes

Monty and Harper were different than Raven and Octavia when they visited. They were chattering, talking about school and their winter break, as if they were just having a conversation with her. They talked about how excited they were to see all of the new paintings she was working on. Clarke remembered how she had wanted to show Monty a landscape she was working on, get his input on the flowers since he was into botany.

_I wish I could show him now._

Bellamy seemed to listen to the conversation, a smile tugging at his lips when he found something amusing. It was nice to see him grin, at least a little bit. It gave Clarke some hope that no matter what happened to her, Bellamy would be able to find some happiness.

When Monty and Harper left, Miller came in. Instead of going to the loveseat, he pulled up a chair next to Bellamy. Clarke took her seat back in the corner of the room, curling up as much as she could. Miller looked at Bellamy’s hands, wrapped around Clarke’s, and bumped his shoulder against Bellamy’s.

“She’s going to be fine, man. She’s more stubborn than you are, and that’s saying something.”

Bellamy snorted and shook his head. “Fuck off, Miller.”

Miller laughed, and Clarke smiled at the sound. Everyone had been so quiet, and while Monty and Harper had talked, this was the first time someone had outright laughed in her hospital room. Clarke’s chest felt warm and fuzzy, and she slumped into her chair more, finally allowing herself to relax.

Nurse Vie knocked at the door and poked her head in, a small smile on her face. “Hi there. Just here to check vitals again and draw a little blood for testing.”

Maya made quick work of jotting down Clarke’s vitals in her chart, and stored the clipboard away in her cart. Clarke caught Bellamy eyeing the medical contraption.

“Any changes?” he asked, and Clarke thought she heard the remnants of hope in his voice.

“No,” Nurse Vie replied, shaking her head. Bellamy’s shoulders deflated, and she gave him a reassuring smile. “Sometimes, no news is good news. We’ll learn more when we take her in for her scans.”

“And those are scheduled for 6:45 right? When should they be done?” Bellamy replied, and Clarke could tell he was growing nervous again at the prospect of Clarke’s body being taken away from him.

Maya shrugged, cleaning a spot on Clarke’s arm and prepping a needle and vial. “It depends on what Dr. Jackson sees. If there are spots that he doesn’t like, he might rescan to focus on those areas, make sure nothing is out of place. I would say no more than two hours.”

Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat, and thankfully Miller noticed. He put his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Hey, it will be a good opportunity to get something to eat, maybe a cup of coffee,” he offered. “I heard the cafeteria has good blueberry muffins.”

Clarke snorted at Miller’s attempt to distract Bellamy. It was a good effort, but Bellamy wasn’t buying it. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back from his face, and sighed heavily. “Fine, but we eat up here,” he mumbled.

Miller took this as a win.

The final rotation brought around Murphy and Emori. Clarke looked up as Emori walked in, Murphy stopping in the doorway. Emori looked back at him, reaching out for his hand, but Murphy shook his head.

“I can’t…” he mumbled, trying his best not to look at Clarke’s body in the hospital bed.

“John, this isn’t your dad. This is Clarke,” Emori whispered, taking a step towards him. “I know this is hard for you, but you can do this.”

Clarke straightened in her seat. She knew Murphy’s dad had died when he was young, but he was always too guarded to talk about it. When he mentioned it, it was usually in a self-deprecating, bitter way. If something traumatic happened with his dad in the hospital, Clarke was surprised he was even here. It was clearly triggering some sort of response inside of him.

Murphy glanced over at Clarke’s body, quickly at first, but then slowly his gaze lingered longer. He took Emori’s hand, following her into the room. He stopped again at the foot of Clarke’s bed, staring down at her still form. Clarke noticed his hand tighten around Emori’s, and then it loosened. His shoulders visibly relaxed, and he went to sit on the loveseat with her.

It was quiet for a moment, before Emori spoke up, aiming her question at Bellamy. “The nurse outside said that talking to her might help. Have you tried it?”

Bellamy shook his head, directing his gaze at Clarke’s face. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

Emori shrugged. “Tell her anything. You used to tell Octavia stories about Greek myths, didn’t you? Do the same with Clarke,” she suggested.

Bellamy looked at Emori, his eyes slightly widened. He looked back down at Clarke. “Which one should I start with?” he murmured, his thumbs stroking over her knuckles.

_The only one I know is Hercules, or Atlas_ , Clarke thought, shifting out of her chair and coming to sit at the end of her hospital bed. She watched Bellamy’s contemplative face, noticing the slight crinkle in between his eyebrows, the shadows settled beneath his eyes.

He let out a deep sigh. “Persephone’s name wasn’t always Persephone, but not a lot of people know that,” he started, and Clarke smiled. “She went from a goddess of nature to goddess of the underworld, ruling beside Hades. It’s kind of a long story…”

-

Clarke’s head whipped up from the pan at the stove when she heard the doorbell ring. “I’ve got it!” she chirped, setting down the spatula and wiping her hands on her apron. Jake nodded from beside her, where he was clearing some of the cooking prep from the counters. She bounced to the door, throwing it open and giving Bellamy a big smile.

Bellamy smiled back at her, his eyes drifting down to her outfit. He raised an eyebrow. “Nice apron, Princess,” he teased.

Clarke rolled her eyes, pulling him into a brief kiss. “Come on, my dad’s in the kitchen,” she said, grabbing Bellamy’s hand. She noticed his palms were clammy, and she smirked up at him. “Nervous, Blake?”

It was Bellamy’s turn to roll his eyes. “I just want to make a good impression. I know how important he is to you, and the last thing we need is for him to hate me.”

“He’s not going to hate you,” Clarke insisted, pulling Bellamy inside, out of the bitter cold of winter, and shutting the door. She led him into the kitchen, smiling as her dad turned around.

Jake wiped his hands off on a dish towel and threw it over his shoulder. “Well, well. Bellamy, right? It’s good to finally meet you,” he said, sticking out his hand.

“It’s good to meet you too, sir,” Bellamy replied, shaking Jake’s hand.

“Please don’t call me sir,” Jake said with a laugh. “I hate formalities. Mr. Griffin or Jake is just fine with me.”

Bellamy nodded, and looked over at the stove. “Smells great. What are we having?”

“Beef and broccoli over rice,” Jake informed, reaching over to stir the pan. “Should be ready in five minutes or so. Clarke is the one who suggested it; it’s one of her favorites.”

Bellamy looked down at Clarke. “You’ve never told me that.”

“You never asked,” she responded with a shrug.

When they sat down for dinner, Jake began asking Bellamy about himself, about his plans for school and the future. It seemed a bit like an interrogation, but Clarke was willing to let it slide. Her father was weary of her dating choices, especially after the aftermath of Finn. He only wanted the best for her, and if someone didn’t meet his standards, Clarke had to respect that.

Bellamy volunteered to do the dishes, and Clarke opted to join him. They shuffled off with the plates and began the after-dinner clean up.

“Do you think I passed?” Bellamy mumbled to Clarke, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Jake wasn’t in earshot.

Clarke chuckled, wiping a plate dry with a rag. “Bellamy, you’re fine. You’re a good guy, on a good path in life. Why are you so worried about this?

Bellamy swallowed and shrugged his shoulders. He stared intently at the plate he was rinsing. “I’m not…” He sighed and shook his head. “Clarke, I come from a poor family with a drug addict for a mother, with a house on the other side of the tracks. I have a rusted out beater of a car, I’m swallowed in debt after only three years in college, and I can’t give you the things that other guys could. The things you deserve.”

Clarke scoffed and put her towel down on the counter, turning to face him. “Bellamy, do you really think that’s all I care about? All my father cares about?” She put a hand on his shoulder, turning him so that he was facing her too. “I don’t care about where you come from, or the money you have, or what car you drive. I care about what’s in here,” she said, tapping his chest over where his heart should be. “And what’s in here.” She moved her finger to his temple. “ _That’s_ what matters to me.”

“I second that.”

Clarke and Bellamy both turn to see Jake leaning against the doorframe. He put his hands up, giving them both a small smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But what Clarke said is true. Do you think I always had a big house or a nice car?”

Bellamy’s gaze shifted to the floor, the tips of his ears flushing.

Jake sighed. “My point is, Bellamy, that life doesn’t give you things. You work for them, you earn them. You get knocked down? Okay, get back up and fight. As long as you have a plan for your life, and you’re good to Clarke… I have no qualms with you.”

Bellamy looked up at Jake and nodded. “You’ve got my word, sir. I’ll take care of her.”

-

They take Clarke’s body as planned at 6:45. Bellamy is reluctant to let her go, but plants a kiss against her knuckles before releasing her. Octavia managed to convince him to go with her to the cafeteria for breakfast, and Clarke is grateful that Octavia is someone he listens to. Someone who can talk sense into him when all he wants to do is follow his heart.

_The heart and the head_.

Clarke doesn’t follow them. Instead, she finds herself walking up to her mother’s office. She wasn’t sure her mother would even be there, or if she had gone home for some rest, but something was drawing her there. She weaved in and out of the medical staff crowds, avoiding bumping into anyone, even though she was the only one who felt it when they did collide.

When she arrived at her mom’s office, she walked in to hear her mother on the phone. Clarke folded her arms across her chest, observing her mother as she leaned against the doorway.

“Yes, Friday works well,” Abby spoke into the phone, jotting down something on a notepad atop her desk. “No flowers. All donations made to Arkadia General.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. _Of course she’s planning an event for work. She’ll probably go too, get all dressed up for a banquet or something._

“Yes, the dark oak looks lovely,” Abby said, and Clarke furrowed her brows. _For tables?_ Clarke pondered, tapping her fingers against the crook of her elbow. _Why does she care about what wood the tables are?_

“No, we agreed on the white silk lining. And you can get it custom by Thursday for the wake? Perfect.”

Clarke froze, her eyes widening as she realizes what her mother was doing. _She’s planning Dad’s funeral._ Clarke rushes over to the calendar on her mother’s wall. It was the start of Tuesday morning, and if the phone call was anything to go by, Abby was planning for the wake to take place two days from then, the funeral on Friday.

Meaning Clarke wouldn’t be able to attend, to say goodbye to her own father.

“ _No_ ,” Clarke growled, a heat burning in her chest unlike she had felt before. She turned to her mother, who was still talking to the funeral director. “ _No! You can’t do this to me! You can’t take him away before I have the chance to say goodbye!”_ Her voice was loud, booming inside of the quiet room.

“What is the total for the casket? Yes, that works,” Abby continued.

Clarke let out a yell of anguish, slamming her hands onto her mother’s desk. It didn’t even make a noise. “ _You can’t do this to me!”_ she cried, a sob bubbling out of her chest. She heaved in a breath. “ _No, no, no. I need to say goodbye. I want to say goodbye!”_

“Yes, fantastic. Thank you so much for getting back to me. Uh-huh. Buh-bye,” Abby murmured, before ending the call and putting down her phone.

“ _You can’t take him away from me_!” Clarke yelled, her voice cracked, her hands shaking against Abby’s desk. She was getting lightheaded. “ _Let me say goodbye! Please, don’t make him go_ ,” she sobbed, hanging her head. She was swaying on her feet, and the room started to spin.

Abby let out a sigh, turning back to her computer and checking her emails. Her phone rang, and she answered it without looking at the caller I.D. She pressed the speaker button, leaving the phone on the desk as she typed at her keyboard. “Abby Griffin speaking.”

“Dr. Griffin, we have a code blue! It’s your daughter,” the frantic nurse on the other line said.

Clarke could feel her eyelids growing heavy. She backed away from her mother’s desk, her back bumping up against the office wall. She slid to the floor, watching as her mother grabbed her doctor coat before rushing out of the room.

_Let me say goodbye._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Sorry.


	7. I'll Only Hurt You If You Let Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but one that holds a lot of emotional weight. I can't believe this story is nearly complete. Thank you for your continued support.

Clarke wasn’t sure how she’d gotten in the operating room, but that’s where she found herself. Part of her wondered if she had been drawn back to where her body was somehow, but none of this experience made sense. She was exhausted, drawn, and couldn’t find it in herself to care. She leaned back against the wall, sliding down to the floor as she watched the nurses swarm around her body.

_Maybe I’m not meant to be here_ , she thought, closing her eyes. _Maybe I was supposed to be with dad._

There was a pain in her chest that wasn’t there before, as if a void had opened up in her heart. It threatened to swallow her whole, to consume every part of her being. Maybe it was the situation finally hitting her; maybe it was knowing that her mother was having her father’s funeral without her. Regardless, Clarke had no strength to fight it anymore. The pain, the grief, the emptiness… it had drawn everything out of her, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted it all back.

The doors to the OR opened, revealing Abby in her doctor’s coat. She stood far enough away from the operation as to not interfere, but close enough to monitor the process. Clarke felt sick just looking at her mother. The feeling was raw, scraping against the edges of her void. She drew her legs up to her chest, burying her face into her knees.

_How could I ever live with her as my mother?_

The chatter of the doctors and nurses was the only thing that kept Clarke anchored to the environment around her. Every once in a while she would catch a phrase, something about her blood pressure dropping, or needing a clamp, and she would remember that these people were fighting for her, trying to help her. They were trying their best to make sure she survived. She wondered, briefly, if they had even considered if she _wanted_ to live, if it was something she would wish for if she had a voice. How many people had they saved that wanted nothing more than to be let go? She wondered, then, if the people that hadn’t wanted to be saved ever regretted being alive. Had they wished the doctors had stopped? Or were they grateful at the second chance, to live beyond what they thought?

_How did they even begin to pick up the pieces?_

-

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” Jake responded, looking up from the book in his lap.

9-year-old Clarke sat next to him on the couch, leaning against the arm with a book in her own lap. They often read books together at night, before Clarke went to bed. Clarke had always wanted to be just like Jake, to know the things that he knew, to copy the way he sat, or dressed, or the way he held a book. She was incredibly inquisitive, especially for a young girl her age. Jake was just grateful she was actually reading instead of watching mind-numbing cartoons or obnoxious videos online, as many of her peers did.

“Is mom going to be home before bedtime?” she asked softly, glancing up at him from her book.

“I don’t know. You know mom is working really hard to earn a promotion at work. It’s a big deal for her,” Jake replied, sliding his bookmark into his page and closing the book. “Why? Is there something you wanted to talk to her about?”

Clarke shook her head, her light blond curls bouncing as she did so. “No…” she mumbled. “I just wanted to know if she wanted to tuck me in.” Her voice was small; as if when she said it quiet enough, it wouldn’t sound quite so sad.

Jake sighed, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. She squirmed a bit, fighting to get comfortable, but eventually relaxed into him. “Clarke, honey. Do you miss mom?”

Clarke shrugged, fiddling with the pages of her book, refusing to look at him. “It’s just been a long time since she’s tucked me in, I thought maybe she didn’t like doing it. That maybe that’s why she works so long, so that she doesn’t have to.”

“Oh, Clarke,” Jake breathed, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “No, that’s not why mom works so late. She’s working really hard so that she can help support our family and give you cool things. Like that nice art easel you saw in the store the other day.”

Clarke turned her face into her father’s shoulder. “But I don’t want new things. I want her to be _around_ , to come to meet the teacher night, and mommy-and-me breakfasts. I want her to help me pick out my clothes at night so that I’m ready to get dressed in the morning. I want her to go out with us to ice cream, and to the park, and to meet my friends.” She took in a deep breath, squeezing her eyes tight. Her tiny voice shook as she whispered, “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t love me enough to be here.”

Jake pulled Clarke into his lap as she began to sob, stroking his fingers through her hair and rocking her back and forth. She managed to soothe herself in just a few minutes, always hating to cry for too long, to look weak, but she did stay curled up into his lap, her head tucked under his chin.

“Clarke,” Jake said softly, his hand rubbing circles into her back. “I know you miss mom, and wish that she was here more… I wish that too, sometimes. But you have to know that I will _always_ be here for you, always holding your hand when you need it, or… letting you go when you need space. Whatever you need, _however_ you need me… I’ll be here.”

-

Clarke wasn’t sure how long she sat on the operation room floor. Time seemed to be agonizingly slow, and yet she only remembered it in bits and pieces. Eventually, as her body stabilized and they began cleaning her up, she got up from the floor and followed a nurse out the door, making her way to the ICU. She knew her body would be brought to recovery for a little while before making it to the ICU, but she didn’t care. Sitting with her physical self only reminded her of what got her here, how broken she was.

She looked around the waiting room, almost surprised by all of her friends still sitting there. They all looked wrecked, exhaustion filling their bodies and oozing into the space around them. Octavia was slouched against Miller, her eyes drooping as she stared at a spot on the tile floor. Harper had her head in Monty’s lap, curled up on one of the few benches that the space offered. Emori and Murphy were both sitting on the floor against the wall, their heads back, eyes closed. As she looked around, she realized Bellamy wasn’t with the others, and neither was Raven. Her gaze drifted to the glass door, and she breathed a sigh of relief at seeing them both sitting in the hallway, outside of her door.

Clarke’s brow furrowed as Nurse Vie opened the door, a purse slung over her shoulder, her winter coat draped over her arm. Clarke’s group of friends looked up at her, and she gave them a small smile. “My shift is over. I’ll be back tonight. Best of luck to you all,” she said sweetly, and Clarke managed to slip through the door behind her before it closed.

She slowly made her way down the hall towards Bellamy and Raven, her feet shuffling against the white tile. As she moved closer, she began to hear the sobs ripping out of Bellamy’s chest, muffled by his head buried in his arms. Raven had her hand on Bellamy’s back, trying to rub soothing circles against his spine. Clarke knew he preferred to have his hair stroked when he was upset; he found it the most calming. Not that she could tell Raven that, of course.

She sat across the hall from them, leaning her head back against the wall, her shoulders falling. Maya must have told them where she was, must have told them about her coding inside of the MRI machine. Turns out it was a shard of her broken rib floating around in her chest cavity, and it somehow nicked an artery, causing internal bleeding. Dr. Jackson had managed to patch up the artery and clear out the bleeding, but the amount of blood she lost was dangerous. She’d be getting more blood transfusions to help her stabilize.

Clarke noticed the half-eaten muffin and cold coffee cup beside Bellamy, and felt guilty for interrupting his breakfast. The sobs wracking his body were never-ending, and Clarke felt the void inside of her open a little wider. She was the cause of all of this, of all of the pain and the heartbreak and the tiredness on everyone’s faces.

_Would it have been better if I had died? Would it have been as painful for them?_

Clarke swallowed heavily and crawled across the floor, sitting now directly in front of Bellamy, their legs almost touching. Hesitantly, she reached up and gently ghosted her fingers over his curls, just barely touching them.

She pretended not to notice the hiccup in his chest, or the way his sobs quieted.


	8. Let Me Let You Go

It was so quiet.

No one had said a word in the hours since Clarke’s body had been brought back to the ICU. Bellamy was fighting off sleep in the recliner next to Clarke’s bed, his hand holding hers tightly. Raven was laying on the loveseat, her hair draped over the arm as she stared up at the ceiling. Octavia was out in the waiting room, saying goodbye to the rest of their friends. Apparently, the nurses had assured them that Clarke wouldn’t be waking up any time soon, and that they would be kept in the loop if anything changed. Most of them had agreed to come back after getting some rest, and Clarke didn’t blame them. They all looked dead on their feet anyways.

Clarke sat on the end of her bed, staring down at her body as her chest rose and fell with the machine-controlled breaths. A light snore alerted her, and she looked over to see Bellamy had actually fallen asleep, his head falling back against the cushion. He finally looked peaceful, but the red puffiness around his eyes was a telltale sign of how long he had cried.

Raven shifted, sitting up and putting her head into her hands. Clarke’s gaze shifted to her, taking in how worn she looked. Her shoulders were tense, and a soft sniffle made Clarke’s heart ache. Raven never cried. She had such a hard exterior, much like the machines she repaired and built. Breaking down her walls took a lot of effort, and she didn’t give up without a fight.

“Clarke,” Raven whispered, and Clarke bristled at the sound of her name. She glanced at Bellamy to see if he would wake up, but he was still out. She looked back at Raven, shifting to face her more directly. “I don’t know if you can hear me. This feels stupid. But…” Raven sniffled, wiping at her eyes with shaky fingers.

“Everyone wants you to stay. Hell, I want you to stay, more than anything. But if you can’t, or you don’t want to… I would understand.” Raven looked up at Clarke’s body, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. She glanced at Bellamy. “I think he would too, eventually. We all know how much your dad meant to you. And coming back from this, it’s going to be so fucking hard. So… if you need someone to tell you, it’s okay. If you want to let go, it’s okay.”

Suddenly, it felt like a weight lifted off of Clarke’s shoulders, like Atlas had taken back the world to carry. For once since this all happened, someone was thinking of what she wanted. Someone was giving her permission to be selfish, to take back control. Her life was in shambles, and no one seemed to recognize how she would feel about it all. No one recognized everything she had lost. The roaring of the emptiness inside her seemed to quiet, if just for a moment.

_Maybe I could go now. Maybe I could stop fighting._

A whisper inside of Clarke convinces her to stay, even just for a bit longer. Just long enough for closure. Then, she would leave.

-

“She’s gone again.”

Clarke’s heart sank, hearing those words. Bellamy and Octavia’s mother had only been back at home for a few months. Surely she wouldn’t leave again so quickly.

“How do you know?” Clarke replied. Often times, when Aurora left, she wouldn’t bring much with her: a backpack, a change of clothes, her cigarettes. Little things that most people wouldn’t notice.

She heard Bellamy sigh over the phone speaker. “She left a note this time.” A crinkle of paper told Clarke he was still holding it. He sniffled, and the paper crinkled again. “Bell and O, I’ll be back in time for Thanksgiving. This time I promise,” he read, and Clarke could hear the emotion in his voice.

Clarke bit her lip, tapping her pen on her desk and staring down at her textbook blankly. “Bell, do you want me to come home?”

Bellamy cleared his throat. “You don’t have to. We’ll be okay,” he said softly, but Clarke knew that it was never easy when Aurora left. Octavia became moody for a week or so, blowing up at Bellamy for the smallest things. Bellamy would withdraw, bottle up his emotions and suppress them deep inside. Their house would become a war zone.

Clarke stood up, going to her bed and pulling out her duffle bag from underneath. “I wanted to come down to Arkadia this weekend anyways,” she said, although they both knew it was a lie. She had a big art history exam on Monday, and she needed the time to study. She began gathering her clothes, throwing them haphazardly into the bag.

There was silence on the other line before Bellamy let out a breath. “Thanks, Princess,” he murmured quietly.

Clarke smiled, holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear while she went through her drawers. “We’ll get through this together, okay? You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

“Together,” Bellamy echoed, and Clarke knew she was doing the right thing.

-

Clarke wasn’t sure when night had fallen. Her friends had shuffled in and out of the room all day, causing a whirlwind of faces and conversations and interrupting medical staff. Dr. Jackson had checked in on her at least three times, adjusting her medication once and going over the notes the nurses had taken. Clarke wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he seemed more satisfied the last time he had come in.

Everyone but Bellamy and Octavia had left. The beeping of her heart monitor was the only sound in the room, and she desperately wanted to lower it so that it wasn’t so loud. It seemed so out of place and… daunting. When she left, that sound would cease forever. Sometimes the loudest thing is the absence of sound.

Octavia had moved the loveseat closer to Clarke’s bed, allowing her to ghost her fingers up and down Clarke’s arm in a soothing motion while still relaxing on the couch. Clarke perched on the arm of the loveseat, unable to tear herself from the room. She said she would leave once she had closure, but… with Bellamy holding her hand, and Octavia willing to sleep on that uncomfortable couch for her…

_I’m not ready to go. Not yet._

“Hey Clarke,” Octavia whispered, her thumb rubbing circles on Clarke’s arm. Bellamy glanced up at his sister, his face weary, but he didn’t interrupt. “You almost left us today. And I… was a mess. An absolute mess.”

Clarke swallowed heavily, shifting uncomfortably on the arm of the couch. Her eyes trailed over the mess of a braid that hung over Octavia’s shoulder, and she wanted to fix it for her. Her fingers itched to tuck the fly-aways behind her ear, to nimbly reconstruct her braid as she had done so many times before.

“Abby told us your Dad’s wake is on Thursday. Which is absolute bullshit,” Octavia muttered, shaking her head. “She should wait for you. But when has she ever cared about what you wanted, right?”

“O,” Bellamy said lowly, narrowing his eyes at her. He knew that what Octavia said was true. Clarke knew he wasn’t a fan of Abby either, especially knowing how she treated her own daughter. But she also knew that Bellamy was desperate to keep the peace, so that Abby didn’t rescind her offer to let them visit Clarke.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “I just…” she paused and cleared her throat before starting over. “I know you don’t have your dad anymore, and your mom… she’s not exactly your favorite person. Just… you know you have us, right? You have me, and Bellamy, and Raven, and Murphy, and Emori, and Miller, and Monty, and Harper. We’re your family, Clarke. You still have a family here,” she whispered, her voice quivering.

Clarke’s heart felt heavy. These people, her friends, cared for her more than her own mother did. They cared for her as if they were her family. She was ready to leave them behind, because she was so afraid of being alone, of being without her dad.

Clarke hung her head, taking in a shaky breath. “ _I’m scared, Octavia_ ,” she whispered, although no one could hear her even if she screamed. She wanted so badly for them to hear her. “ _I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know… I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle this._ ” She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. “ _Going on without my dad… He’s always been there. And I just… I can’t pretend like I’m okay with that. I’m not. I’m not fucking okay_.”

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to staunch the burning tears threatening to spill out. “ _And I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why he died and I didn’t. He… he was so important, to so many people. He was making this city, and the world, a better place. How am I supposed to live up to that? How am I supposed to be half the person he was? He always said he believed in me, but… I don’t have that anymore_.” A sob bubbled past her lips, and she clamped her hand onto her mouth to stifle it.

“You gotta pull through, Clarke,” Octavia softly murmured, her hand squeezing Clarke’s arm. “Your fight isn’t over yet. You can do this. I believe in you.”

The dam burst, Clarke’s chest heaving with her sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give a comment and a kudos if you liked it! Thank you to everyone who has done so thus far. You're awesome!


	9. Only You Know The Way That I Break

Most of Wednesday was a blur of nurses and friends and that agonizing beeping of her heart monitor. Clarke stayed in the corner of the room most of the day, curled up in the chair that no one bothered to sit in since it was so far away from the bed. She only bothered to move from that spot when all of her friends left, and Bellamy was the only one who remained. It was shortly after 10 pm on Wednesday when she padded softly over to the end of the hospital bed and perched at the foot of it, watching him with tired, sad eyes. He was exhausted, squinting and rubbing at his eyes, making his thick-framed glasses lie crooked on his face. .

“ _Bellamy_ ,” Clarke whispered softly. “ _Get some sleep.”_

He shifted, leaning back against the recliner and letting out a yawn. Clarke reached over and laid her hand on top of his on the edge of the bed, allowing her thumb to brush over his knuckles. She knew he couldn’t feel it, but his eyes slowly drifted shut, and eventually his mouth went slack. She gave him the gentlest of smiles, a shaky sigh escaping her lungs.

“ _You’re going to do great things, Bellamy. Amazing, wonderful things_ ,” she whispered, her hand stilling on top of his. “ _You’re so smart, and kind, and endlessly loyal. Your writing is incredible. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wrote a book one day, and sold millions of copies, and got on the best seller’s list_.”

Her gaze drifted down to her body, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically. “ _I told my dad… I told him that I thought you and I were heading in different directions in life. I wanted to travel, and paint, and live freely. You want to be with Octavia, stay with your family in little old Arkadia. I didn’t. And now… here… I would have understood if you chose to leave. But you haven’t.”_ She looked back over to Bellamy’s sleeping face, feeling her tears turn her cheeks wet. “ _I don’t deserve it, Bellamy. I don’t deserve your unyielding loyalty. I’m selfish, and cold, and… weak_.” A sob ripped its way out of her chest, and she took a moment to breathe through it. “ _I’m so fucking weak. I don’t want to live in a world without my dad_.”

Clarke turned her head in shame, bringing her knees up to her chest, her toes hanging off of the side of the bed. “ _I don’t know what to do, Bell. I don’t know how I am supposed to go on without him_ ,” she admitted in a soft whisper.

She sat silently through the rest of the night, keeping watch over Bellamy as he slept. Soon the morning came, the sun barely shining over the horizon. Clarke heard muffled voices by her door, and was worried about them interrupting Bellamy. He needed all the rest he could get with how little he had slept lately. She slipped off of the foot of the bed, shuffling over to the doorway. Now that she was closer, she could hear Dr. Jackson and her mother discussing in hushed tones.

“We’re able to see that the swelling on her brain has come down tremendously, and her blood supply has regulated to normal numbers. It’s time to lower her sedatives and see if she wakes up,” Jackson said quickly, referring to the clipboard in his hands. “If we lower it slowly, in increments by the hour, she could be awake by tonight.”

Abby hummed noncommittally. “I’ll be at the funeral home, organizing last minute things for the funeral. Message me updates, if there are any,” she murmured.

Dr. Jackson’s brow furrowed. “You won’t be here when she wakes up?” he asked, understandably confused. Clarke scoffed and leaned against the doorway, shaking her head. _Of course she wouldn’t be around. I didn’t expect her to be._

“I’ve got other things to attend to, Jackson,” Abby said, her tone clipped.

“She’s likely going to be confused. It would be nice to have a familiar face when she comes to,” the younger doctor tried to reason, clearly uncomfortable with the idea that Clarke’s mother wouldn’t be around to help.

“I wish I could say I was a familiar face to her,” Abby grumbled bitterly. “Look, I’ve got to be at the funeral home in an hour to approve everything before the wake starts. Is there anything else?”

“Don’t come back.”

Clarke jumped at Bellamy’s voice coming from behind her. He stood with his arms crossed against his chest, his expression cold and uncaring as he stared at Dr. Griffin.

“Excuse me?” she snapped, having the decency to look offended.

“You heard me. Don’t. Come. Back.” He sounded pissed, but he was doing a good job at holding back his full anger. Clarke knew that he was probably boiling on the inside, but was trying his best not to get kicked out of the hospital. “You don’t care about her. You never have. She would be better off if you would just stay away.”

“How dare you,” Abby scoffed, her face wrinkled in disgust. “She’s my daughter-“

“What’s her favorite color?” Bellamy shot back, raising an eyebrow at her. Abby floundered for a moment before he continued. “What’s her favorite food? Who is her favorite artist? Hell, what classes did she take last semester?” He waited for her to answer, but she was silent. He shook his head, focusing his gaze on the floor. “You don’t know… because you don’t care. You’re clearly not even a fraction the parent that Jake was. You don’t think she feels that? You don’t think she knows that you are oblivious to her?”

Clarke swallowed heavily, wrapping her arms around her torso as she leaned against the doorframe. His words hit a hollow spot inside of her, echoed loudly within her.

“That doesn’t matter. She’s family,” Abby said matter-of-factly.

“You’re _not_ her family. Octavia, Raven, Miller, Monty, Harper, Murphy, Emori… Me. We’re her family. We’ve been _here_ while you’ve been off playing dutiful widow and poor mother. Save it, Dr. Griffin,” Bellamy snapped, locking eyes with her. “Go to the funeral, play your role. But save the act for people who don’t see right through it.”

-

Bellamy woke to some clanging outside Clarke’s bedroom, and a cold spot in the sheets beside him. The windows showed that it was the early light of the morning, barely past dawn if he had to guess. He could hear Clarke’s voice, muffled and low, something sounding like cursing and frustrated noises. With a furrowed brow, he slipped out from under the sheets and padded his way out of Clarke’s room, rubbing his eyes as he went. Her voice got clearer as he neared her studio space in the spare bedroom of her apartment, and he could hear the sound of her paintbrush clanging against the water glass she kept on her desk.

“Fuck her,” Clarke’s voice mumbled, low and angry, followed by a sniffle.

As Bellamy rounded the corner, he saw Clarke standing at her easel, her pajamas slung haphazardly over her form, a paintbrush stuck into the elastic of her ponytail, another in her hand beating paint into the canvas in front of her. Her free hand swiped at her face, then wiped whatever it found onto the cotton of her sleep shorts. Bellamy stepped closer, concerned at the sniffles and hitched breaths coming from her.

“Clarke?” He whispered softly, gently placing a hand on her hip. “You okay?”

Clarke sniffled, tossing her paintbrush into the water jar and bringing up her hands to rub at her eyes. “Sorry if I woke you up,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “I’ll try to be quieter, you can go back to bed.”

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy murmured, shifting so that he was in front of her. He removed her hands from her eyes, which were red and wet from tears, her eyelashes clumped together. He gently wiped a stray tear off of her cheek. “What happened?”

Clarke sighed, turning her gaze up to meet his. “My mom called. Told me that she scheduled a fundraiser for the hospital the same night as my art show in the spring and that she wouldn’t be coming.” She let out a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes. “I should have known. I should have expected it from her. But – “ She cut off, her breath hitching.

“It still hurts,” Bellamy whispered, pursing his lips. He pulled her into a hug, tucking her head under his chin. “I’m sorry, princess,” he muttered. He pressed a kiss into her hair at the crown of her head, closing his eyes at the sound of her muffled cries. “I know how much that art show means to you.”

Clarke pressed into him, melting into his embrace as she always did. “I don’t understand, Bell. I try so hard to make her happy, to make her proud, and nothing I do is ever good enough,” she whimpered, pressing her cheek into his chest and squeezing her eyes shut.

Bellamy sighed, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. “I know. I know how much it hurts. But do you have any idea how proud _I_ am of you?” He pulled back just a little, placing a finger under her chin and lifting up so that she looked at him. “You work so hard, all the time, and are still the sweetest, most caring person. Your art is amazing, some of the most stunning paintings I’ve ever seen. You underestimate yourself, Clarke. You deserve the world.” He paused, giving her a lopsided smile. “I wish I could give it to you.”

Clarke let out a wet laugh, shaking her head. “You give me all that I need,” she mumbled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the base of his neck. She sighed and looked back at her painting, pressing her lips together. “I don’t think I’m being very productive,” she murmured, reaching up to release the paintbrush from her hair and giving one last sniffle. She looked back up at Bellamy. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Bellamy smiled. “Good. It’s cold without you there.”

-

Clarke watched as the nurse on duty switched out her I.V., clearing her from the last of the sedatives. She was growing progressively more nervous as the hours ticked on, knowing that her body now had the ability to wake up, and she wasn’t in it. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she didn’t return to her body. Would she just… give up? Would her body shut down? If her body did want to wake up, would it pull her back in? None of it made sense, and it left her more afraid. She still didn’t know how she was expected to continue without her dad. Her heart ached just thinking about it, as if she could feel the spot in her heart that he had vacated.

She stood in the open doorway of her hospital room, gazing out towards the waiting room. Her friends all sat there, waiting anxiously for her consciousness. Dr. Jackson had said that too many people in her room could be overwhelming as she started to wake up, and advised that they start with just one person at first and introduce more as she started to gain clarity. The group unanimously vowed to stay in the waiting room until they were needed, until Bellamy or one of the nurses came to get them.

Clarke’s gaze shifted back to Bellamy, who was standing by the window, looking out at the snow drifting to the ground. She could see his fists clenching and unclenching, his shoulders tense. The longer he waited, the more tense he became. His head turned back to look down at her body, his lips pressed together tightly. He rounded the bed, sitting back at his spot on her right side, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His head hung low, his wild curls obscuring some of his face.

With a heavy sigh, she padded back to her bedside, her eyes glued to the pale, lifeless body in front of her. It didn’t even feel like she was looking at herself anymore, after seeing it this way for so long. Her tracheal tube had been removed an hour ago, replaced with a nasal cannula. Her body had adapted well, and breathed on its own, which had made Dr. Jackson pleased. Without the tube, she somehow looked more dead than before, although she couldn’t place why.

Bellamy’s hand came into view, and Clarke watched as he pulled her hand up to his lips, pressing them against her knuckles. His eyes were squeezed closed, but the wetness clinging to his eyelashes tugged at Clarke’s heart. She sat down at the foot of the bed, facing him, wanting nothing more than to pull him into her arms and tell him that he was going to be okay, that he was strong, and he could get through this.

“Stay.”

The whisper ripped from his throat startles Clarke, the utter brokenness of it sinking into her chest. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“I’m not a begging man, Clarke,” he choked out, blinking his eyes open and staring at their joint hands. “But there’s nothing else I can do. I’m begging you, just… stay.” He hiccupped out a sob, tears running down his freckled cheeks. “I _can’t_ … I can’t be in a world where you don’t exist. I would do anything for you just to come back, to be _here_ again. I would give anything for you, Clarke Griffin. I would leave, promise to never see you again, if it just meant knowing that you were alive.”

His voice sounded full of anguish, the pain of it filling the room, drowning them both. Clarke let in a shuttering breath, the weight of it against her chest feeling heavy.

“But if you need me… I will never leave you. I will be by your side every second, for as long as you’ll have me. I _love_ you, and I… I can’t lose you, Clarke. Please, _please_ …” his voice broke, and he shut his eyes once more. “Stay.”

A sharp pain breaks through her chest, and she lets out a strangled cry at the sheer volume of it. It’s the worst pain she’s felt, more than she ever thought a person could feel. It’s not just physical, but emotional, and it rips through her so intensely, like she’s truly feeling what it would be like if she were to come back to her life, the agony she’d have to endure. And through all of it, Bellamy’s sobs are clear in her ears, loud and hitting straight into her core.

And suddenly, she felt a warmth brush over her skin for the first time in days. The soft blanket under her fingertips made her skin tingle, as if she was touching an electric currant that traveled through her body. The tubes in her nose were uncomfortable and irritating, and she wanted nothing more than to rip them out and take a deep breath on her own. The heaviness of the brace on her arm seemed too much to lift on her own, but she knew she would have to now. She flexed her toes and tensed at the feeling of the plaster touching her skin. Her leg was captured within the binds of a hard cast, keeping it stiff and weighed down to the bed, too heavy for her to even fathom lifting.

Suddenly, the pain came rushing in, the physical pain. Her head throbbed, the cut on her forehead feeling tight and itchy. There was a sharp pain under the brace on her left arm, and she knew it would be agony to move her fingers. Her leg felt numb in some places, intense, stabbing pain in others. The duality of it all had her feeling lightheaded, and she took in a staggering breath… the first breath she’d taken on her own, consciously, in days.

The dense feeling in the room began to dissipate, and there was a deafening silence, with the exception of the beeping of the machines, which seemed to fade into the background. There was movement to her right, and a soft brush of fingers upon her hand. Her own fingers twitched in return, more of their own accord than of hers.

Bellamy’s breath hitched, and he applied more pressure to her fingers, enveloping them with his own. “Clarke?” His voice was hesitant as he whispered, as if afraid that what he felt didn’t actually happen. The pain in his voice was still so clear, and Clarke knew that she could ease it.

With as much effort as she could muster, she moved her fingers again, giving his hand a light squeeze in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give a final thank you to everyone for reading this story. It's been a long journey to get here and I'm so glad you all came with me.
> 
> That being said, this final chapter is not the end of this universe. I do plan on writing some oneshots that take place after the end of this fic. So this is not goodbye... more of a 'see you later'. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ thebraveprincesspure to keep up with anything I have going on, and don't forget to leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed my story.
> 
> May we meet again.


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